Habits
by fignae
Summary: Their lives have been set on a new path. But Kirika has something to say to Mireille.


DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fanfiction. Noir is not mine and no commercial profit will be gained from this piece of writing.

fig's note: This was written for a challenge over at LiveJournal. I would not have tried my hand at a MiriKiri who spoke their feelings otherwise, haha. It's disturbing for me, the lack of my usual overdose of darkness, so I'm still ambivalent about the overall effect.

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_**Habits**_

It had begun like a dream and she could still imagine it really was one if she shut her eyes, except there was a solid cast to the incident that let her know it did happen. They had both been aware of the mounting strain, the shadows at the edges that quickly became too much to bear against the daily struggles of a normal existence. That was why they contacted the Soldats. The very next day, someone had called with the address of a restaurant. Prudence required the bringing of firearms. They had signed a contract and recited the words of the agreed-upon oath, the men clustering around like that act was the greater of the two.

And then this. Stillness. Crickets chirping outside the window. The lights of Paris staring unblinkingly at her. The world felt different, but it looked the same. Kirika had been slightly edgy all day.

The door creaked. She was there just as Mireille uttered the first syllable of her greeting.

"What's wrong?" Mireille was putting their groceries aside, unravelling a packet of milk from its bag and placing it on their newly acquired coffee table.

Kirika smiled and shook her head. She received an inquiring look before Mireille turned back to her work. "There was no one following me this time," Mireille continued, wielding a tomato, a smile in her voice. "Looks like they have kept their end of the bargain."

"To leave us alone, and in return we will too," Kirika added solemnly.

Gently, "it's the way we choose to live."

She strolled towards the kitchen, and Kirika turned accordingly, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes. The sound of teacups touching the counter recalled her to the present time. "Oh!" she said, and scurried to the pool table.

"What did you buy today--" Mireille had taken no more than two steps from the back. She stopped and blinked for a moment.

Kirika looked up from a surface crowded with more dishes than it was accustomed to holding, a shy smile darting over her features. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time. Saying nothing, she watched anxiously as Mireille scanned the plates, head lowered.

"You..."

"Yes," she said, a little too quickly.

"So that was what the cookbooks were for." Mireille looked up. She was smiling, which sent a fair amount of relief coursing through Kirika. She had left for the library on the pretext of an errand, thinking Mireille's silence a sign that she had not noticed. But it was hard to hide books when you were living in the same apartment. It was not a large place. Not large at all.

"Mireille," she said.

"Hmm?"

Kirika paused, confused. "How is the food?"

"I like your pasta."

"I'm glad."

"The shop space looks fine. Seems to get a good amount of traffic."

"Are you going to rent it?"

"Maybe. You should see it too."

Kirika felt her heart skip a beat. After a while she said, "you want me to help out in the shop?"

"No, what are you thinking?" Mireille put down her spoon. Kirika had hers poised in the air, quite forgotten. "We shall be co-owners, of course. I believe you still have something in that account of yours?"

Kirika nodded mutely, thinking of the halves Mireille had faithfully deposited into her account after every job, and watched the corners of Mireille's mouth twist upwards. The news about the shop warmed her and made her a little dizzy, just like the wine might have if she had taken too much, which she had not. She pulled the spoon back to her mouth.

"It's good, isn't it?"

Kirika, who had just been surprised by the unexpected sweetness of the seasoning, sneaked a glance at her.

"I used to think you didn't enjoy your food, when I looked at you. But that wasn't right."

"No, it wasn't," she agreed. "But you're not wrong. I learnt many things, here."

"That's true for me too."

They lingered over the wine, with Mireille commenting on how well it had been aged. Afterwards, she made Kirika stay at the table while she cleared the plates and cleaned them. She said it was in return for the lovely meal, and never mind whose turn it was to do the chores. Kirika sat beside their plant and eyed the new flower budding on its stalk. Words reached her hearing -- pretty plates Mireille had seen at a department store, and would Kirika mind if she bought them for everyday use? There was something strange about her too, perhaps the same difference that tinted the leaves of the plant and coloured the lights a curious orange outside their window. Studying the finger she had placed on the pot, Kirika acquiesced, remembering how much these little comforts pleased Mireille.

She trailed behind her like she always did as they ascended the steps. Mireille had a book with her; Kirika sat leaning on the headboard, the covers down and her knees pulled up to her chest. She realized with a start that she had forgotten the book she had become accustomed to taking to bed with her.

"Something on your mind?"

It was Mireille. Kirika unfolded her arms, hesitated. A page rustled as it was turned.

"You've been looking preoccupied."

"Yes, it is..." Dipping her head miserably, she admitted, "I don't know if I should be here."

Paper frittered uncertainly, then fell back with a slight sound. "What?"

"Should I still be here?"

"Have I asked you to leave?"

"No, but, this is your apartment, and I stayed here because we were looking for our past, and then because it was safer. But now that the Soldats are no longer bothering us, maybe it would be better for you if..." She swivelled and stared at her blue bag with its yellow trimming, thinking that in a moment she would walk towards it. Might walk towards it.

"Do you want to leave?"

"No." Tears had sprung to her eyes. "I don't."

"Then don't. I don't mind having you around."

Kirika continued keeping the bag within her line of sight. "But I want... something more." As the words tumbled out, half-heard whispers she had buried in her heart finally made themselves known. She stood up, aware from the prickling down her spine that Mireille was looking at her turned back. The silence stretched taut, but Kirika let it drift around and about her.

Then there came a thump, and an odd sound, and she just had to turn to see what it was.

The book lay fallen on its front cover, somehow deader than it had been. Mireille had one hand clapped over her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking. But her eyes-- Kirika stepped back, repelled by the anger in them.

"Why?" It was a demand, Mireille's voice higher than it would have been.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

The minutes ticked by, patient minutes that seemed longer than time usually was. Kirika lowered her gaze to the floor. The spot by her foot had received a blotch of paint no one had washed out. Could it be? The right amount of turpentine might do the trick. Trickles of regret tugged at her. But she was growing calmer.

"Come here."

Kirika moved her foot.

"Will you? Please."

She went over. Mireille shifted on the bed, moving slightly closer so that the backs of their hands touched. Kirika shivered.

"You..." Mireille began.

"No, go on."

"Please understand that you are...very important to me. More important than anything. But, _why_?"

Caught between the sting of bile and a sweetness that rose from nowhere and entered her bones, Kirika opened her mouth, about to speak, then stopped and said with completely natural sincerity, "I don't know."

Mireille huffed a sigh, brushing away a stray tear with her other hand. "That isn't the best thing to say to a lover, you know."

"Lover...?"

The term echoed quietly in her head. Studying Mireille's face, watching Mireille study her in return, the memories rose in gentle cascades. Adjustments made, little and large, down to the very bed they slept on. Habits she herself had adopted to better complement her partner. Everything around them, the things they shaped, the things that shaped them. Obviously they were no longer the team they had been brought up to be, but they _were_ nevertheless, existing and evolving, like their fellow living beings, according to the environment they had found, no, _chosen_, to plant their roots in. And of course they each had a hand in where they were to go.

In Mireille's eyes Kirika saw her anxieties reflected; saw herself, as in a fairground mirror, somehow larger than she had understood herself to be.

"You've changed," she said wonderingly.

"So have you."

Kirika smiled, having found her answer. "Because I love the person you are."

Mireille swallowed, and Kirika was just registering the precise line of her throat, so familiar and yet not, when warm, gentle lips pressed in and a trembling fingertip traced across her cheek. Kirika's skin flamed in response to those soft touches, and though she did not recognize the reasons, she tipped forward, knees sinking into the bed, and tangled her fingers through shiny blonde hair.

Kirika would later lie in bed, replete with cookies and Mireille, and be glad that her new life was different from Dante's. Maybe she'd finish reading it someday. But for now, there were changes to be made, and there was Mireille.

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End file.
